Rebecca

I'm so sorry it's taken so long! It's been a very busy week, and I've been desperately seeking a job out of school hours (Yes, I'm 18!!) And so I've been very negligent, Bad Evie. Onwards darling readers,

Sheherazade- The teacher crush thing really is a killer, boarding school, hot teacher, it's got all the potential exept for the fact that my very lovley History has the highest respect for the law and wouldn't dream of touching me. That song by The Police, Don't stand so close to me, is most played on my iPod. Oh dear...

Scary Bear Hair- You're school was called Cow Pie High? That is so cool! I'm at Catholic School so we're big on Saint's names. The self harming thing is scary, the whole story is based on personal experince or fantasy, and writing the last chapter was a bit of an emotional exorsisem, especially as I was feeling pretty down that day. I'm thinking that Rebecca's friends will keep the whole affair on the down low, their very loyal people.

Hugh_pym- My newest reviewer (reveiw-ee?) Thank you for your kind words, I'm having a lovely time writing but in true Evie fashion I've been making it up as I go along, and its getting a bit sticky now I'm attempting to find an ending.

Well, Here goes....

I'm woken from a long stretch of bone-meltingly deep sleep by the shrill and incessant ringing of a bell.

Half term is over. Could it really be only two days ago that my room was immaculate and Holden had laid next to me, holding me tight and promising never to let me go? The room was covered in clothes again, and Holden was back to his official position, registering girls as they went into the freezing cold dining room.

Meals are compulsory at St. Georges, but I tend to forgo breakfast. Until Holden got here I used to hop in the car, drive into town, pick up a Star bucks skinny lemon and poppyseed muffin and a Chai Latte. As you can imagine Holden was less then pleased with the routine when he first got here. (Before he realized how appealing I really could be! )

Bitterly I slide out of the warm nest that is my bed and shiver delicately as I open the curtains. It's a very clear cold day, the sky is wide and open and a cool blue, cloudless. The grass outside is frosty and there is condensation on the windows.

Picking an outfit has become a hell of a lot more difficult since Holden got here, when all the teaching staff were over 70 it was fine to turn up in a pair of tracksuit bottoms, Ugg boots and a hoodie, only now the Sixth Form Dress Code was actually being instigated. I went with a black jumper dress, (Primark, but it looks MiuMiu, well a bit) tights and heels. I think technically its a black jumper top, but it covers my arse (just about) and if you can't get away with it at eighteen, then when can you? I've never had the patience for proper make up, a smear of cover-up under my eyes (Holden's nocturnal habits have taken their toll) Kohl all over my eyes and some mascara, I run my hands through my long dark hair and eventually decide to tie it in a pony tail. The whole effect is quite pleasing, the jersey dress clings to me and once I've got my glasses (I'm a little tiny bit short sighted, but mostly I just like them as an accessory) the whole look is quite Sexy-Secutary.

I arrive to History on time for once, and sit at the front of class. I'm sure that this is wildly suspicious but I don't care, any chance to get close to him is one I savor. Half term was so idyllic, I think it's going to be difficult to go back to snatched moments between classes and meals and bed times. Only, something historic happens.

Holden is late. Not just a couple of miniuits, quarter of an hour. My class is small, only five people. It's not the most popular A-level. I volunteer to go to the staff room to check whats going on. The rest of the girls say nothing. I smile inwardly at my secret. I don't go to the staff room, I turn down the corridor that leads to Holden's rooms. I'm just about to knock on the door when I hear a silky, extremely well spoken voice. A female voice.

'Hmm, Yah darling, but Mummy and Daddy are really wondering when we're going to do it. You know that they've had Shoreditch House booked for the reception for like, two years now?' I took a sharp intake of breath.
'Yes, I know darling, but things have just been so... Frantic.' Replied Holden, uncharacteristically vaugly.
'Jack! Please..?'
'What, Annabel? What do you want? We're going to do it, soon. Just, not now..' Just as I was about to turn on my heel and walk out the door was flung open and in front of me stood a woman. She was about five foot eleven, a lot taller than me... Blonde, skinny, tanned, and wearing an expression of quizzical outrage. Fuck. This is Annabel? I had imainged some horsey looking, hopefully morbidly obese, spotty girl. Not this willowy model look a like.
'Can I help you?' She asked disdainfully.
'Uh.. Yeah.. I've got a, We've got a.. Lesson. Lesson with Jac- Mr. Holden.'
'Jack, they're some kid here to see you.' She said glacially, then picked up her hand back and glided out of the room and down the corridor. I stood transfixed.
'Bex.. What are you doing here?'
'Well to start with we've got a History lesson now, and I spent like, half of half term here!'
'Yeah.. No, yeah right. Course. Come in.' I walked through his room and sat down on the leather sofa, the very same one that I'd sat on a few weeks earlier, terrified of what he was going to do to me. Ironically I'd happily take that beating again, a hundred times, all that I really cared about was that horrible blonde woman and what was going on.
'Cut the shit, Jack. Tell me what's going on.'
'Language.' He retorted automatically.
'You're fucking fiancée has been sitting right here all morning, you skipped teaching a fucking lesson, you've been sleeping with me for a month now and I ask about you're *fiancée* and all you can say is Language?'
'Stop swearing, and calm down Rebecca. Don't make me punish you, I'm still your teacher.'
'You seem happy enough to forget that when you want to fuck me.' I bite back. Then I clamp my hand over my mouth. Shit, what have I just said?

Holden stands up. His face is like thunder.
'You realize, Rebecca, that you've basically just accused me of using my position to rape you?'
'Dont be stupid,' I retort. 'You know that's not what I meant.'
'You know Rebecca, sometimes you act like a stupid, spoilt child. Have you ever considered your words before you say them?'
He's kind of got me there.
'Well, if you're going to behave like a spoilt, child you will be treated like one. Stand up.'

He's got a very no nonsense look his eyes, and his tone is colder and harsher than I have ever heard. I follow his instructions. Mabey if I'm really good he'll go easy on me?
'Raise your skirt, take your tights off and pull your knickers down to your knees. Then go and stand in the corner.' Miserable I shuffle over to the corner.
'How long for?' I whine.
'As long as I want.' He retorts.
I'm not sure how long he leaves me for. It feels like an hour which means about ten minuets. If the point of corner time is to make me consider my actions before punishment, the corner time is crap. I'm just as cross now as I was before. Then the cold order comes for me to turn around.

'Come here.' I oblige. He is standing next to his desk, on which is a pile of lined paper and a pen.
'You will sit here and write, 'I will think before I speak.' until you are ready to admit that you have behaved like a stupid insolent child, and then you will beg me to punish you.

Sadistic Fucking Bastard.

I'll play him at his own game. I won't give in. Surely he wouldn't dare keep me all day writing lines. It would look suspicious, wouldn't it?
Only, it turns out that I'm wrong. An hour and a half later I'm still writing. Sheets and sheets of paper are covered in my wide italic script, and yet nothing. Holden has marked essays, paper and exercise books, nothing. My arm is cramping and really hungry and really thirsty.
'Sir?' I venture. He looks up..
'I'm really hungry, Sir. And thirsty'
'You should have gone to breakfast, then shouldn't you?' He replies, and then opens a bottle of Diet Coke and starts to drink. God, I'm so thirsty. Knowing that I don't have anything to drink is making everything so much worse.

'Fine!' I jump up. 'Fine! You win.'
'I don't think that's what I asked for, Jones.' Bastard!
'I'm sorry Sir. I have behaved like an insolent child. I deserved the lines and I am in desperate need of correction. Please Sir, will you thrash me?'
Pretty good, huh? I didn't get an A* at Drama GCSE for nothing. Holden even looks taken in by my act of contrition, this is my own personal, albeit small, victory.
'Very well, since you asked so nicely.' Holden smiles. 'Kneel on the sofa, lean over the arm.'
I'm still knickerless so he only has to slide up my dress.
'Nice dress,' He comments.
'Horribly inappropriate of course.'
'Naturally' I retort through gritted teeth. He hasn't caned me since that fateful morning after he caught me at the pub. I'm fast learning about my preference of implements. The cane is my least favorite, no competition.
'You will count them and thank me for each one. Understood?'

I reply in the affirmative and then dig my nails into the dark brown cracked leather of the sofa, preparing myself. Like the first time, I feel the cold cane being lined up against my arse, hear the sickening swish and then feel the sharp, red hot pain. Holden is in no rush. He steps back and admires it from different angles. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream at him to stop being a vain sadist and get on with it. Only I regret wishing for him to get it over with as he brings another slashing down onto my arse, lower down this time, a couple of centimeters below the last. He's a bloody good marksman. Worst luck. Then another, and another, almost at that particularly sensitive area where arse becomes thigh. I begrudgingly thank him after each one, knowing what was coming. Holden seems to be a fan of the last stroke being the hardest, he lines the cane up on the sweet spot and raises it higher than before, bringing it swishing down, slicing through the air and landing on my arse with colossal fores. I can't help but cry out. He shushes me, kindly but shushes none the less.
'Six, Thank You, Sir.' He traces his finger over each of the welts, eventually as he follows the last one he slides a finger between my legs and into my pussy, which is, as ever after a punishment, embarrassingly wet.
'Hmm, it seems that we have something else to see too.' Quips Holden. He very gently circles a fingertip around my clit, causing me to gasp for air, he builds up a rhythm and adds another finger, the build up is agonizingly slow, and yet sinfully pleasurable. Then he stops, undoes his belt and looks at me expectantly. I sigh deeply and get to my knees. I really wish I'd never shown him my skills in the oral department, it would have saved a lot of time and frustration. I run my tounge along the shaft and circle the wide end with the tip of my tounge. He's not in the mood to be teased now, so I get straight to business, he windes his hands into my long hair and pulls it, hard. I want to tell him to stop but, well, I was always told not to talk with my mouthful. After just a couple of minutes Holden lets out an almighty sigh and comes in my mouth, I duituflly swallow. Then I push him backwards into the sofa and straddle him hopefully. I'm still wet as ever and desperate for release.
'Sir..? Please will you..' He gets up of the sofa and pulls up a stool.
'Sit on the back of the sofa, Jones.' I do, leaning against the wall and sitting on the back of the sofa.
'Open your legs.' he demands. I do so.
'Touch yourself.' He instructs me. I tilt my head back and slide my fingers into my pussy, which is still as wet as ever. I rub my fingers in on my clit, in the same circular movement that he used before. My breathing quickens and my nipples stiffen. I'm so close.
'Your not going to come today, Rebecca. You've been far too badly behaved.' I remove my hand from between my legs and look up.
'Ok then. Let's talk about Annabel, then.' He looks startled. Theres nothing like being on the brink of orgasm to make a girl cunning. He smile at me and stands up.
'Fuck me, Buster.' I demand. And he does. Amazingly good stamina, has Holden. For an old man..!
A while later we lie on the sofa, cuddling each other, warm under a throw rug, conversing easily.
'It was an amazing half term. Shame it had to end.'
'Fuck. Bex. Fuck!'
'What?' I ask, concerned.
'Half Term is over. We've just missed half a days lessons.'
'Fuck!'